


Anchor

by Trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, no spoilers really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean feels adrift. Sam keeps him anchored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> For Shinobi, who wanted Dean giving Sam a blow job. Unbeta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

Dad is dead. It's something Dean has been telling himself he was ready for since before he went to get Sam. Since Bobby said, "If your daddy was dead already you think demons wouldn't be yappin' about it?"

"You're the best hunter I know, Bobby," Dean had said, unable to explain why he needed to do this so badly. Unable to argue. 

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "I know one better," he said. And Dean drove to California. 

And now. Now it's real. He feels like he is adrift, cut free from the shore and left to the mercy of the tide. And his brain just keeps saying, now what?

It should've been him. Sam doesn't seem interested in throwing him a pity party. 

"Yeah," he says, "it should've been you. But Dad, he made that decision." He grabs Dean's shoulders and shakes him. "He knew what he was doing, Dean. Don't you think he was tired of it? All of it? This life...it's not a picnic, Dean."

Dean can't speak around the lump in his throat but the 'you think I don't fucking know that' is implied. 

"He's with mom, now," Sam says.

Dean chokes on a laugh, but now isn't the time to piss on Sam's faith parade. If he wants to believe there's some happily ever after once the credits have rolled then fine. Whatever. Dean stopped believing a long time ago. 

"We're gonna be okay," Sam says, matter-of-fact. "Don't you think things can be..." He trails off, shrugs. 

"Don't you dare say better. Don't you dare, Sammy, I swear to God."

"Why not? Why can't it be?" One hand leaves Dean's shoulder and moves to cup his face, thumb sweeping across his cheek. 

Dean leans in, despite himself. "Sammy," he whispers. 

"I know you only said no because of Dad. You think I don't know you inside out by now? You never wanted to have to choose between us, and you'da had to in the end."

It's true. And Sam's hand on his face is grounding, like nails in his feet. Pinning him down. Holding him steady as the storm hits. He can't even put up a token fight when Sam leans in and kisses him. It starts slow, but neither of them were ever much for waiting. 

Dean walks Sam backwards toward the bed and pushes him down, climbing into his lap and bracketing Sam's thighs with his knees. They haven't done this in so long but it's as if it were just yesterday. Picking up where they left off. And Dean has never fitted with anybody as perfectly as he fits with Sam. 

He rolls his hips down, desperate for some friction. Sam groans into his mouth and clutches him tight, pulling away only to pull off both their shirts. His hands trace tiny circles across Dean's chest, thumbs brushing his nipples. The touch is so light it makes Dean shiver and fuck, if he wasn't hard before.

Gracelessly, Dean climbs out of Sam's lap and stands up to unfasten his own jeans, just the fly, the way he know Sam thinks is sexy. Stepping forward he puts one hand flat on Sam's chest and pushes him back to lie down, his booted feet planted firmly on the floor. 

Dean kneels, knocking Sam's legs wider. He makes quick work of Sam's fly, pulling his jeans and boxers down to pool around his ankles. Dean just looks at him, taking in his muscles and the way he looks like he has been carved from wood. Sam is hard, so hard, and Dean wants to ride him until the sun comes up. He has exercised pretty awesome self restraint over the last year, if he says so himself, and he isn't going to give in now. 

Planting his hands on Sam's hips Dean takes the head of his brother's erection in his mouth, sucking lightly. Sam bites off a moan, one hand dropping to run through Dean's hair as Dean takes him deeper, wrapping one hand around the base. 

"Fuck, Dean," Sam moans, free hand clutching the sheets. As Dean takes him in all the way, the head of Sam's cock hitting the back of his throat, the noises Sam makes begin to sound like an animal in pain. He keens, head thrown back. He lets go of Dean's hair to cover his eyes. 

One hand still holding Sam down, Dean reaches into his open jeans to free his aching erection. He fists himself in time with his head moving on Sam's dick. Pulls back to tongue the head, the taste of Sam's precome something he hadn't realised he had missed until now. 

"Dean," Sam breathes, "oh God, Dean."

And if Dean didn't know his brother's 'I'm going to come' voice and noises by now he would be an idiot. He pulls back, hand jerking Sam off in time with his own strokes. He sits back, mouth open, eyes locked on Sam's. 

And then Sam is coming in hot spurts across his face, which sends Dean over the edge with a low moan. He strokes himself through it, not taking his hand away from either of them until the sensitivity becomes too much. He grabs his shirt from the floor and wipes the come off of his face onto it, licking his lips. 

Sam sits up, shakily. "Fuck," he utters. 

Dean smiles, more than a little bit self-satisfied. "You're welcome."

"Get up here."

Dean does as he is told, climbing onto the bed to curl up beside his brother who just lays there with his pants around his ankles. 

"I'd've picked you," Dean whispers against the flushed skin of Sam's neck. "Always you. Til the end."

Sam makes a noncommittal noise and kisses Dean's hair. "I couldn't do this without you," he says. Which is as good as 'I love you' to Dean. He falls asleep like that, curled around his brother. Grounded. Safe, for now.


End file.
